


The Pale Moon's Gleam

by cordeliadelayne



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alien Invasion, Angst, Arthur's Return, Drama, First Kiss, Future Fic, Happy Ending, Immortal Merlin, M/M, Reincarnation, happy reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 09:44:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6748750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordeliadelayne/pseuds/cordeliadelayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Merlin lost his magic while waiting for Arthur's return, and one time he got it back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pale Moon's Gleam

**Author's Note:**

> Set after the end of the series. Some reincarnation elements. Title taken from Arthur O'Shaughnessy's [Ode](http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Ode_\(O%27Shaughnessy\)).
> 
> Originally posted to Livejournal in 2013.

**One**

The first time it happened Merlin heard the woman's screams for days afterwards. She was a witch. There was no question. She had magic and she had been caught. This was long after Albion had fallen, long after he'd stood and watched as Leon, then Gwen, then their children and grandchildren had been buried. Long after magic was supposed to have vanished from the earth. But as long as Merlin was alive magic would always be there, a whisper on the wind, a light in the darkest of places, hope when all seemed lost.

He'd never learned her name. There had been others burned as witches, others whose names he'd learned and then forgotten, other trials. Some he'd saved. More than some, really. Good people who deserved second chances. But this one. This one there was something different about, something that reminded him a little too much of Morgana. It was the defiance really. The way she stood up to her accusers. The Inquisition they called themselves. It was a name Merlin thought Uther would have quite liked.

He learned what she had done though. Or at least what conventional wisdom assumed that she had done. Caused the death of a neighbour so that she could marry the husband herself. She had the “Evil Eye”. Merlin had been ready to dismiss it as more tavern gossip as he sat in a corner, nursing an ale he would never finish. But there had been something, a voice that told him he should go and see for himself.

He was friendly with all the Inquisitors; a bumbling foreigner who was interested in their customs and could spare the odd gold coin now and then. The guards, the servants, they all saw him without really seeing him. Just the way he liked it. So getting in to the woman's cell was no problem. The woman herself however...

“Take another step and I'll burn you where you stand.”

Her voice had been croakier than Merlin expected, and lower. It didn’t take a genius to work out that she was putting it on, acting the part the Inquisition expected of her. She wasn't putting on just how scared she was though. That was all too real. Real enough to taste.

“There's no need for that,” Merlin said. He held his hands up, placating, soft. No one should ever be afraid of him, not any more. “I'm here to help.”

“No one can help me. It's over.”

“I can,” Merlin said, eager, intense, stepping forward so that his hands were hidden from the guards. He put all his thought into creating a small ball of light in his hand, every part of him alive with...nothing. Nothing happened. He refused to panic, just tried again. And again. And nothing continued to happen.

“You are a fool,” the woman said to him, and sat back down on her bench. “Watch me burn.”

“I – I don't...”

The guards returned and Merlin was hustled out the way he had come.

And the next day he did watch her burn. He felt he owed her that much at least.

**Two**

The second time it happened Merlin was running through a forest, not unlike the one that used to surround Camelot. Before. His heart was pounding and he was starting to wish for a good wind and a steady dragon, when he went tumbling to the ground, long limbs around his waist, holding him down.

“What are you running from?”

“You,” Merlin said, almost a sob.

The man looked at him, puzzled. “Me? What have I done to thee?”

Merlin willed his magic to come to him. For the earth and wind and rain and fire to heed his call. But only silence answered back. Only a deep ache settled about his shoulders. His fingers flexed uselessly in the dirt.

“What's your name?” the man asked.

“You don't know?” Merlin asked.

The man shook his head. “Mayhaps a physician, to see to your hurt?” The man pointed at Merlin’s arm and he saw that his shirt was snagged and blood was seeping through. Merlin thought there might have been a fight, before, before he'd seen him and run, his feet taking him away before he had time to think what he was doing. He thought it might have been fear that he couldn't kill the man that had driven him away. Guilt at all the things he'd said and all the things he hadn't.

Merlin found that there were tears in his eyes and he pressed his fingers to the man's head. The man just blinked at him, eyes wide. So strange, Merlin remembered thinking, to see and not see. This man who looked nothing like Mordred, yet Mordred he was.

“Do you believe in magic?” Merlin asked.

The man made to laugh and then stopped. “Sometimes, late at night, when there's a sound outside, and I get to thinking, of all the things I've dreamed, sometimes the candle lights itself. And I think, maybe, maybe I did that.”

Merlin nodded and finally took his hand away. If he had treated Mordred better, if he had told Arthur earlier, if, if, so many ifs and not a drop of comfort anywhere.

“All magic has consequences. Never make a deal for which you are not willing to cost your loved one their life. Use it to protect the innocent. Never treat it as a toy. Guard it well.” He wanted to say much more. Wanted to impart all that he had known. Wanted to say sorry. And “I forgive you”. Would have shown him, this Mordred who wasn't, what magic could do, but once again it had forsaken him when it was needed.

Merlin pushed his way up and began to walk away, just away. He'd spent too long in this part of the world as it was. Perhaps next he could head across the sea.

He didn't listen out to hear if the other Mordred followed him. Nor did he hear the name “Merlin” chasing him faintly on the wind.

**Three**

The third time it happened, Merlin was in the middle of a war. So many wars, so many fights, would they never end? No swords and arrows this time though. Now there were tanks and trenches and cannon fodder. Disease killed as many as the enemy. Whoever that was supposed to be. Merlin had lost track in amongst the blood and gore as he tried to save as many as he could. It was his fault, anyway, this latest battle. He'd had enough of the dead and dying. And when he'd seen Gwaine and Percival and Leon and Elyan, because of course they would all come back as soldiers brave and true, that had been the final straw.

He'd walked off by himself, away from the medic’s tent where he had been helping out – too many harried people to ask too many questions, especially when Merlin proved adept at saving lives – and conjured up as much magic as he could. But he hadn't been concentrating. Had been too upset. Too bone-weary. Too lost. And all he'd done was let the enemy see a hole in their defences. And when he’d tried to use his magic again, to fix the problem, it had left him.

It was always there, a constant thrumming beneath his skin. He _was_ magic. And yet it would keep fluttering away and all he had to show for it was friends long dead.

They were lined up together, when Merlin returned to the medic's tent. Except it was a mortuary now. For Gwaine and Percival and Leon and Elyan. And Lancelot was standing next to him, calling out orders and addressing him by the name he'd chosen from a graveyard he'd seen two, three? weeks ago and he realised, as he slipped out again when Lancelot wasn't looking, that he had lost all hope of ever hearing his true name again.

**Four**

The fourth time it happened Merlin was living in a small hut in Wales, deep in the forest where he hoped no one would be able to find him. It happened, from time to time – in longer and longer stretches – that he needed to be alone. The sound of voices coiled around him and made him sick, some days. The only thing he wanted was his own thoughts, his own magic.

The fire he was playing with – red and gold and then blue – was turning and twisting, showing him things he'd known once, people he'd loved, people he'd killed. Part of him realised that it was not good for him, to be so stuck inside the past like this, reliving every detail. Always focusing on the bad. But it had been so long since he'd had anyone know him for who he was, that he was afraid that he would soon lose all sense of himself. And bad memories seemed stronger than good.

The knock at the door startled him and the fire went out. No one ever came this way.

“Hello?” A voice called out. A woman. Perhaps she would just go away. “Hello, is anyone in there? I'm afraid I'm a little lost.”

Merlin sighed. “One moment,” he said. He looked around his hut; very few things left out would signal him as a wizard, let alone a real one, but still...He waved his hand, commanding his magic to send all his property to somewhere safe. Nothing happened.

“Not again,” Merlin muttered. He sent his magic out, through and beyond time and space, but it just came back at him, twice as fast, and he fell to the floor with an audible crunch.

“Are you all right?” the woman called out.

“Yes, yes -” Merlin picked himself up and threw a cloth over his cauldron. That would have to do.

He opened the door and almost slammed it in the woman's face. No. He couldn’t do this. Not again.

“Hello, Merlin.”

Merlin's heart fluttered. “Gwen?”

Her answering smile was answer enough, and then she flung her arms around his neck and he thought, at last, that it was true.

“How?” he asked her, pulling her inside.

“A long story,” Gwen said. She looked just like she had the last time he had seen her, though – no, she was younger here, as she had been on her wedding day. “I've been looking for you for a long time.”

“You have? But - “

Gwen looked around at his hut, her fingers brushing against the spines of some of his magic books, ones that once had lain unseen in Camelot. “Tea, first,” Gwen said. “And then I'll tell you everything.”

And so she did. That day and night and another besides. A tale of a message from across the seas. A prophecy. A dragon's oath. A life reborn. Of a dying magic. A King who's awakening was soon at hand.

“I know you love him,” Gwen said. “And when we find the others...I was very happy with Leon. I had children with Leon. Grandchildren. I ached for Arthur but when he died, I could carry on without him. And only partly because Camelot needed me. When Leon died though, so suddenly like that, I could see no reason to continue.”

“I killed him,” Merlin said, “the man who poisoned Leon.”

Gwen nodded, eyes full of tears. “I thought it was you.” She put her hands on Merlin's. “I wish you'd come back, you would have had a seat at the Round Table. We could have done with your help.”

Merlin shook his head. “I couldn't.”

“Gaius thought he saw you, once, when our son Arthur rode to war. An old man with a long beard and a stick to help him walk. He patted Arthur's horse, just before the gates opened. And Arthur's horse saved him from an arrow to the heart.”

Merlin didn't deny it.

“Arthur loved you beyond words. He's coming back, Merlin. They all are.”

“Then we need to be ready,” Merlin said. And prayed that his magic would stay true.

**Five**

The fifth time it happened was worst than all the rest. Because this time he had others to protect, and he couldn't. This time his friends were back and they knew him, just as they had always known him. And his magic had been growing stronger, it had. And then it went. Just like that. And nothing he could think to do would bring it back.

They said all the right things, about him not worrying and anyway, wasn't he working himself too hard, and when was the last time he slept? But he blamed himself. He was useless without his magic. And now war had come again. Only this time from the skies.

They had all piled around the holographic projector, listening rapt as the newsreaders told them about the Others. With names so unpronounceable that no one on Earth could hope to say it. How Earth's immediate surrender was expected. And how with a single command all of North America was gone. A warning.

No one put up a fight. Least of all Merlin and his friends.

**Five +1**

Merlin had forgotten what the year was now. What strange names the Others had made them take for their days and months and years. He only knew that if there was any time that the world needed their once and future king, it was now.

He did know that his magic had vanished for good the day they came. And that that was 468 days ago. His studio was covered with the marks he made each day at sunrise. It seemed important that he never forget. Not when everyone else seemed to have done, as if magic was just something that could fade out of the world without consequence.

So Merlin found himself by a lake so still he could have walked on it, if he'd dared. He wasn't sure why he was surprised that it had come back, at some point, but it had. And Arthur was laid to rest on an island once more. A lot of things had changed in all the years he'd been waiting. Strange that he didn't feel like _he_ had changed, his loss of magic aside. The King's true servant, always and forever.

He remembered slipping out of the commune they all shared, at the Other's insistence, and hearing some children telling stories of Camelot and Kings and Queens and a sorcerer so powerful that mountains had moved and lakes had dried up.

“We need a hero now,” the little girl had said, repeating words oft repeated but rarely understood, “our need now is greater than it's ever been.”

Her mother had hushed her and Merlin thought that Arthur was lost forever then. Because the girl was right and Arthur was dead and Merlin had no magic.

So he'd gone to the lake in order, he supposed, to say goodbye once more. This would be the last time he stepped foot here. The Resistance would strike out in the morning, and they may all be dead by noon.

Merlin slipped off his shoes and took a few steps into the water, and then a few more. He couldn't say why but he carried on until he was waist deep in the lake. It was cold, but he barely felt anything. Truth be told he hadn't really felt anything for a long time. He laid his arms out and rested his hands on top of the water.

And then the water turned bright red, Camelot red, and a golden dragon appeared before him, just for a moment.

Merlin would have fallen, accept for a hand upon his back, and when he turned Excalibur was floating before him.

“Arthur,” Merlin murmured, scarce daring to believe. He took up Excalibur and, holding it high above his head, he suddenly drew it down into the lake. Instead of hitting water though, it felt like it had hit stone, and his arms jarred with the impact, but the incantations came freely, words so long out of use that they should not have tripped so easily off his tongue. But everything seemed easier now, now that his magic was back. Now that he dared hope.

When he was done the water of the lake was gone, and in its place a path leading from where he stood to where Arthur's body lay.

He had no chance of stopping the tears. Not when he felt so much relief that his magic was back, that once more he was whole. And certainly not when Arthur started to stride towards him, as hale and hearty as he had ever been. And so very alive that the birds in the trees fairly sang with it.

“I believe that belongs to me,” Arthur said, pointing at Excalibur.

“Yes, sire,” Merlin said and held out the sword, starting to bend to one knee as he did so.

“Don't you dare,” Arthur said, grabbing hold of Merlin's elbows and pulling him close. “You never kneel to me.”

Merlin nodded and then blinked, surprised, as Arthur wrapped his arms around him. “How long?” Arthur asked.

“More years than you would dare imagine,” Merlin said.

Arthur pulled back a little and gently stroked away Merlin's tears. “Why now?”

Merlin looked up at the sky and Arthur followed suit. The Other's ships floated just above the clouds. Cold and menacing, even when Arthur had no idea yet what fresh hell they contained.

“What are they?”

“Invaders,” Merlin said. “But we have a plan.” He smiled at Arthur. “We're just in need of a little hope.”

“All right then,” Arthur said, “that I can provide. Take me to my people.”

Merlin pulled Arthur into a quick kiss which Arthur barely had time to return. “Yes, sire. This way.”

Arthur, somewhat amused, began to follow Merlin out of the lake, which started to refill with water with every step Merlin made. “Is this the new and improved Merlin? Being polite and courteous to his King?”

Merlin grinned, but didn't turn around. “Only until you remember that you’re more clot-pole than king.”

Arthur laughed and the forest rang with the sound of hope and magic whispering on the wind. The true King had returned and Death would feast no more this day.

And down in the lowest depths, beneath the fire of the earth, a dragon was reborn.


End file.
